I’ve been sick this week. Just a cold, nothing major, but it’s the week before the semester starts, so not great timing. We’re talking just sick enough to feel slightly miserable and to carry a vague sense of guilt into interactions with other people, but not sick enough to feel justified in not going to work or canceling plans. I definitely can’t say it’s been the most productive week.

I’m trying to be gentle with myself—taking naps and sleeping late and shortening my to-do list—but the last few days have been accompanied by a sense of shame. I want to be able to fight through a cold, to not let it hinder what I had hoped to get done this week, but that hasn’t been my reality. I’ve been feeling my limits. And then I’m mad at myself for struggling to accept them.

I wonder if Jesus ever had a cold. I feel like He did. He had a body, after all, and while He didn’t sin, He experienced the consequences of a fallen world—betrayal, grief, death. Sickness would fit right in. If He did experience sickness, I wonder how Jesus responded. I somehow doubt He ignored His body, powering through for days on end. Did He see sickness as an opportunity to remember His dependence on the Father, the one who sent Him? To cultivate empathy for those around Him? To embrace the limits of His humanity?

Maybe Jesus never got sick. Perhaps sickness is a symptom of life lived out of step with the Father—that may be true for me, with some overwork, late nights, and churning anger contributing to my weakened immune system. But on the whole, I don’t think that’s true.

I deeply desire to experience sickness as an invitation into dependence on God. I want my dry eyes and stuffy nose and sore throat to be signposts of my deep need for Him (and other people) instead of being sensations to bypass or ignore. I’m not there yet. Abba, Father, will you use my weakness to point me towards your strength?